Thousands of feet had churned the way into a veritable sea of mud. The road followed a winding path north, snaking its way around the craggy hills of the region. Centuries of sheep herding and grazing had denuded much of the land, so the rugged, rocky hills bore only a scratch coating of inedible bushes and what passed for grass. It was a depressing sight.
Karus seriously wondered whether this land produced more rocks than crops, as evidenced by the numerous stone walls hemming in the fields they had passed as the line of march moved from valley to valley. The farms themselves were mean affairs, really nothing more than round stone huts with thatched roofs. There had been few animal pens, which meant the residents most likely kept their animals in the huts with them at night and during inclement weather. The handful of villages, filled with clusters of huts, were just as mean, the only difference being a stout palisade for shared defense meant to withstand the occasional raid by a rival tribe.
Karus took another difficult step, and his sandaled foot sank with a squashing sound. He had long since lost feeling in his feet and toes, but that was nothing he had not experienced before. As long as the temperature did not dip too low and he was able to thoroughly dry off his feet later, he would be fine. Numb feet were just another of the numerous discomforts a legionary suffered on a regular basis.
Karus had once walked more than six miles with a three-inch wound in the bottom of his left foot. He had even managed at one point during that painful ordeal to run. It had been either that or get left behind to the not-so-tender mercies of the enemy.
Worse was the surgeon’s care, when his century had returned to camp. The surgeon, a kindly older man named Cleotis, had thoroughly rinsed the wound out with a vinegar solution. That had been incredibly painful. But what followed was worse. Cleotis had scrubbed the wound clean with a wool towel before once again rinsing it, and then sewing it up. There had been no milk of the poppy available. Karus had felt it all. If he could handle that, he knew he could easily tough it out with numb feet.
Karus glanced around. Fourth Cohort, with whom he had been marching for the past hour, slogged along next to him. As camp prefect, he had taken to visiting a number of different cohorts each day to help keep up morale, and also get a sense for the general mood.
The heads of the men were down, and there was little talking. Karus did not like what he was seeing. The legion had left Eboracum just five days before, and each day had proven a tremendous struggle. Karus sensed a growing exhaustion overcoming the legion. He was also beginning to sense apathy.
A man to his left abruptly slipped and fell face first into the brown mire. No one moved to help him up. They just continued to march by, one legionary even stepping over his fallen comrade.
“Easy there, son.” Karus helped the legionary up, careful to not slip as he pulled the man to his feet.
“Thank you, sir.” The legionary was covered in mud. He took a moment to wipe the mud from his face with a hand. Glancing over the man’s armor, Karus knew he had a hell of a job ahead of him this evening to clean it. They all would.
“Paro, right?”
“Yes, sir.” The legionary registered surprise that Karus knew his name. A few other heads turned at the exchange. Though his body was slowly starting to catch up with his age, Karus’s mind was sharp as a tack. He prided himself in his ability to have instant recall, and a near perfect memory.
“Centurion Felix says good things about you.” Felix had said no such thing. Karus simply remembered Felix dressing the legionary down during parade a few mornings ago.
“Thank you, sir.” The man puffed up at that the compliment.
“Keep on marching, boys,” Karus said loudly so that all of those within earshot could hear. “Only a few more hours left before we make camp and you will be out of this wretched mud.”
The men let out a cheer at that. Karus nodded to himself with satisfaction. They may be tired, but they were the best dammed soldiers around.
“Come on, son,” Karus said to Paro. He patted the legionary on the arm, and together they started forward again.
Tribune Saturninus clopped by, mounted on a fine brown horse, a handful of yards to Karus’s right. The tribune was doing his best to ride where the ground was slightly firmer. Even so, his horse was having some difficulty with the ground occasionally giving way. It made for an uneven and disjointed ride.
Saturninus saw Karus, slowed his horse, and flashed a smile of greeting. In his tribune’s armor, free of the grime everyone else seemed covered with, and mounted on a fine horse, he cut an impressive figure. Back in Rome, Karus was confident Saturninus’s looks had made him popular with the women, at least the ones he did not pay.
“Karus, my favorite centurion,” Saturninus said cheerfully, with a glance to the unit standard just ahead. A frown crossed his face. “I don’t believe Fourth Cohort is yours, is it?”
“As camp prefect, they are all mine,” Karus said, stepping over to the tribune, who had not stopped his horse. The pace was just slow enough for Karus to walk by his side. “When duty permits, I make a point to spend time with different units.”
“I see.” Saturninus tapped his jaw with his free hand. Karus noticed that Saturninus wore gloves against the cold. “Making the rounds, then? How very sensible of you.”
“I think so,” Karus said. “It allows me to check in on each unit—to spend some time with the men, and also their officers.”
“You should really get a horse, you know,” Saturninus said with a glance at Karus’s legs, which were slathered in muck, and then winced in an overly dramatic manner. His horse slipped, and then sidestepped nervously. The tribune patted the neck of the animal in an attempt to calm it. “With a good mount, you would be able to get around easier, don’t you think?”
With his new post, Karus could very well have requisitioned a horse. He was no stranger to riding, and with the money his brother had forwarded to him, he could have afforded a good-quality mount.
“I prefer to march with the men.” Karus shrugged. “I might miss something if I spend all my time on horseback. Besides, I get paid for a living, sir.”
It was the tribune’s turn to shrug. Saturninus glanced up at the low-hanging cloud cover. It was a very gray day and was threatening to rain again. He then looked back over at Karus, and the smile was back.
“Lovely day, don’t you think?”
“Exceptional, sir,” Karus said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. “I wish every day could be just as fine.”
“Ha,” the tribune chuckled. “At least there is one centurion in this legion who has a semblance of humor.”
“I thought you enjoyed my company for my intellect?”
“I never said that,” Saturninus said with mock seriousness. “Though to be perfectly honest, you are well-read, and about the only one worth having discourse with, the legate excepted, of course.”
“What of the other tribunes?” Karus asked, referring to the legate’s aides.
Saturninus waved his hand dismissively. “Not a thought in their heads, and sadly, they are without guile. Those spoiled children are not worthy of my attention, nor my wit.”
Karus looked closely at the tribune. Though Saturninus had said the last in a lighthearted manner, Karus suspected there was truth in it. Saturninus came from a better family than the other tribunes on Julionus’s staff.
Karus decided to change the subject. “Five days in, and we’re fairly crawling along.” He glanced back at the men doing their best to slosh through the churned-up mud just feet away. “The enemy knows we are coming, sir.”
“Karus,” Saturninus breathed heavily, looking about ready to say something. He pulled his horse to a halt, glanced around, and then leaned toward Karus. “Has it occurred to you the legate may be right?”
Karus was silent as he thought things through. “Right or not, it is my duty to carry out his orders.”
“Spoken like a true centurion,” Saturninus said, then gestured up the road. “If they are
waiting for us, then there will be a battle. If the legate is right, everyone shares in the glory of victory.”
“And if there is no victory?”
Karus studied the tribune’s face carefully. Saturninus was difficult to read, but his eyes narrowed before he broke eye contact.
“Pray there is.” The tribune nudged his horse into a slight trot, leaving Karus behind.
Karus took a deep breath and stepped off the muddy track onto a large rock. He stood there a moment, relishing the feeling of being out of the slime. A small rock-studded hill rose to his right, perhaps forty feet in height. The rock he was standing upon at some point had rolled down its craggy slope. He reasoned the hill would provide a good view of the surrounding countryside, and Karus decided he wanted a look.
He worked his way up, climbing and scrambling the last few feet to its summit. His legs, already tired, burned with the exertion as he climbed.
Karus puffed out heavy breaths that steamed in the cold morning air as he stood atop the hill’s crest and surveyed the scene before him. The legion stretched out in either direction like a great long snake. The Ninth, along with her auxiliary cohorts, numbered almost thirteen thousand men. That did not take into account a like number of camp followers, skilled labor, and the contractors hired to manage the legion’s main supply train. Karus put his hands on his hips as he studied the column. A legion under march was a massive undertaking, and the sight never ceased to impress him. When he retired, he would miss this.
“Just had to pull yourself out of the mud, didn’t you?”
Karus turned to his left to see Felix making his way up the hill toward him. Standing a little over five feet ten inches, Felix was not a large man, at least by legionary standards. He was fit, trim, and hard as a rock. In the middle of this strange land, Karus found it comforting to see his friend.
Karus nodded in greeting to the senior centurion of the Fourth Cohort as he made it up the last few feet. Karus’s thoughts were on the slow snaking movement of the legion. It was, as he had predicted, a snail’s pace.
“A nice perch you have up here, Karus.” Felix set down his marching yoke and straightened back up, stretching as he did so. “I saw you make the climb and thought I would join you. What brings you up here?”
“I wanted one last look before I make a decision on retirement.”
Felix barked out a laugh. “Sicily again?”
Karus gave a curt nod.
“The legion is the only life for you, my friend. We both know it, no matter how miserable the conditions under which we serve.”
“True,” Karus said. Felix was right, of course. The legion was his life. But there would come a time when the legion would judge his use at an end.
“Remember that fight a few years back?” Felix said, apparently sensing Karus’s melancholy mood. “The one where our old cohort was cut off and surrounded by a couple thousand Caledonians?”
Karus looked over at his friend, wondering where he was going with this.
“You remember that fight,” Felix continued, “where it hailed?”
Karus nodded, recalling the desperate afternoon, the terrible weather of the day.
“A little mud is nothing,” Felix said, gesturing down at the legion marching by, “compared to the conditions we fought under.”
“If I recall … ” Karus expelled a long breath. “First it rained, then snowed, and finally hailed frozen chunks of ice the size of a denarius.”
“I can still hear the hail bouncing off my armor,” Felix said, a faraway look in his eyes. “If only that ice had been real money, we would have cleaned up.”
Karus chuckled. “We sure fought like we were protecting a treasure in that village. It was a good thing the palisade was still intact or … ” Karus let his words trail off. There had been so many close calls over the years. It had left him wondering when his own fortune would run out. In a profession that saw the majority of his peers eventually crippled or killed, Karus had managed not only to survive, but prosper. As he looked down upon the column of march, Karus wondered … did he have any fortune left, or would this campaign be his last?
“That was one tough day,” Felix said. “A real bitch.”
“Any day you can walk away from a fight is a good day.”
“There were a lot of men who did not,” Felix said quietly. “We both left comrades behind in that shitty little village.”
“It was not a good day for them.” Karus returned his gaze to the legion.
A moment later, a soft drizzle began to fall from the low-hanging gray clouds that scudded by overhead. The clouds were so close, Karus felt he could almost reach up and touch them. He glanced up, raindrops striking his face, and then, with a heavy breath, looked over at Felix with a sour expression.
“You just had to say something, didn’t you?”
“Don’t blame me,” Felix said, holding out his hands. “This is the work of the gods.”
“No doubt.”
Karus’s eyes were drawn to movement in the distance. About half a mile away, a squadron of cavalry was pursuing a handful of native horsemen. Felix followed Karus’s gaze. In moments, both the squadron and natives were gone from view, having ridden over the crest of a small hill.
“I guess,” Felix gestured at the legion moving slowly by beneath them, “there was no way the natives could have missed us.”
“No,” Karus said. He had been deeply troubled since they had marched from Eboracum. There was something ominous looming over the legion. He felt it in his bones. “They could hardly have missed us.”
“What have our cavalry scouts found?” Felix asked, looking over at Karus.
Karus considered changing the subject, but shrugged mentally. Felix was a trusted friend, and he deserved the truth.
“We’ve been shadowed ever since Eboracum.” Karus shot the other centurion a significant glance. “Our cavalry has done their best to drive the enemy scouts off, but … ”
“It does not bode well for what is waiting up ahead,” Felix finished.
“No, it does not,” Karus said. “It is almost as if they were waiting for us to move out.”
Felix glanced down at the ground, digging his sandal into the soft soil and displacing a tuft of brown grass.
“This is poor country,” Felix said with an unhappy glance around. “There is not much to be had here other than slaves and those rocks that can be burned.”
“Despite the look of this hard land,” Karus said, “Britannia is rich in resources. There is lead, tin, coal, animal hides to be had, a constant stream of slaves for the plantations and mines. And, of course, those oysters you love so much. They fetch a high price back in Rome.”
Felix grunted. “They live like animals and have so little. I just don’t understand what drives them.”
“Freedom,” Karus said simply. “Religion too. The druids encourage them to fight for both.”
“The druids are the real savages in this land.” Felix spat on the ground in disgust. “We should kill them all on sight.”
“We’re to take them alive,” Karus said firmly. “Make sure you remember that.”
“The gods only know why.” Felix kicked at the soft turf, sending a spray of mud and small stones down the hill. “If we fell into their hands, you know what they would do to us.”
Karus looked over at his friend, and their eyes met. Since being posted to Britannia, both had seen the horrors and cruelties perpetrated by the druids, against not only Romans but their own people as well, particularly those friendly with Rome. The druids worked through terror. They seemed to revel in it, and anyone who was sane, in Karus’s opinion, feared them.
“Dying would be the least of our concerns,” Karus said quietly.
“Karus.” Felix lowered his voice, though there was no one within earshot to hear them. “I have a very bad feeling about this expedition. The land around here is deserted, the farms and villages empty.”
“Yes,” Karus agreed. He had had half a
dozen similar conversations over the last two days. “They are undoubtedly massed, waiting for us somewhere ahead.”
“The legate knows this?” Felix asked. “And still we march on?”
Karus thought for a moment on how he wanted to phrase his next words. “The legate still believes he can catch the enemy unprepared. He is listening to his native guides.”
Felix gave Karus a sharp look and worked his jaw, as if he had something to say.
“He does not listen to me,” Karus added, before Felix could speak.
“What about Saturninus?”
“That man is nothing more than a young politician, practicing at war. I fear he only desires to further his career with an easy victory,” Karus said.
“We may not be marching toward a victory,” Felix said. “Have you seen the camp followers recently?”
Karus shook his head. He had been too busy over the last couple of days to check on them. He needed to do so. After the legion made camp for the night, he resolved to make it happen. The camp followers, like the men, needed to see him.
“The cold and damp conditions are starting to take a toll. It is only a matter of time before sickness begins to take root.”
Karus glanced over at Felix, who looked as frustrated as he felt. Felix’s new wife was amongst the followers. Karus could only wonder how his friend was feeling about that. This was one of the reasons why he had never taken a long-term woman, nor started a family. Besides, Karus did not like children.
“Why bring them?” Felix asked. “This was supposed to be a quick strike north. We defeat the enemy and return. They could have waited for us in Eboracum. Why bring them?”
“I don’t know,” Karus admitted. “The legate made that decision.”
“We should send them back,” Felix said. “Before it becomes too dangerous.”
“I fear it already is,” Karus said and turned to lock gazes with his friend. “We should all turn back.”
“Perhaps you can try again with the tribune?” Felix suggested. “He might be able to reason with the legate.”
Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga Page 6
